Moving On Back To You
by CountryGirl914
Summary: After Doomsday, the Doctor and Rose move on with their lives, because they'll never ever see each other again. But remember, Doctor. Never say never ever...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I may change the title of this at some point—it's been untitled since I started it, but I wanted to start posting so much, so this is pretty much the first thing I came up with. Not sure how much I like it.

I know this is kind of late for being a post-Doomsday fic. What can I say? I must write slowly. I have most of this done already, though, so I should hopefully be able to update it fairly quickly. And yes, it's going to be one of _those_ post-Doomsday stories, but this show depressed me more than any TV show has a right to, and I love happy endings, even if they're not logical, and this is my story, so I get to tell it however I want to. ;-P

And that's why I love fanfiction—it may never happen on screen, and I completely accept that, but in my little part of the world, I can write it that way. What an amazing power.

Enough of my philosophical ramblings. Many, many thanks go to **vartanluvva**, who checked this for Americanisms, even though she doesn't watch Doctor Who. Love ya, and hope you're feeling better soon!

(And I can't seem to get the line break thing to work, so I had to come up with something else. Hope it doesn't look too tacky.)

**Feedback:** Is LOVE. Please review!

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For months after her father who wasn't her father pulled her into the alternate universe, Rose lived in a haze. She ate when her mother put food in front of her, and slept when her eyes could no longer stay open. And she cried. Every day, enough tears to fill an ocean. She just couldn't stop—she missed the Doctor so much, and the thought of him over there by himself was enough to break her heart in two. Getting the job at Torchwood helped, a little, gave her something to focus on, but still each day she would come home, go to her room, and just stare at the wall, memories flitting through her mind until her mum, or Pete, or Mickey came to get her for dinner. You need to move on, they all said. But how could she move on when part of her heart was still with the Doctor? So she stayed in her numb haze, and waited.

Until the night she heard his voice.

"_Rose."_

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For a few moments, after the breach closed, the Doctor could only stand there, temple and hand pressed against the now barren white wall, as if he could feel Rose there on the other side. And in that time, he felt…there were no words in any language that could describe his pain and devastation. The destruction of Gallifrey—that was the only comparison.

He turned, hand sliding off the wall, desolate but determined as he strode away. The breach had closed, but it had been messy. There would be a gap, a crack somewhere in the barrier between them. And he would find it. He had to—he had to see Rose, one more time.

For months he searched, criss-crossing the universe, eating and sleeping only enough to keep him alive and moving. He finally found it, a tiny gap not yet closed, and although it wasn't enough to bring her back—he hung his head at the thought—it would allow him to say a final goodbye. Rose deserved that.

The gap would need an enormous amount of power, so he set about searching for a sun, deserted, far enough away from anything else that he could cause it to go supernova without hurting anything or anyone.

And when all the pieces were in place, he started calling her name.

"_Rose."_

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Rose stared out the window of the jeep as they started the long journey home. She had sobbed and run into her mother's arms right after the Doctor disappeared, but now she was calm, the only sign of her earlier tears the glistening trails on her cheeks. She had always known, even when saying it to the Doctor, that they wouldn't have forever. It just wasn't in the cards for them. And while she had hoped that if they couldn't have forever they could at least have many more years of adventures—well, life was never fair. But she had gotten at least a slight reprieve—the Doctor had been wonderful enough to find a way for them to meet one last time, a final goodbye. To be unable to touch him—to hug him, slip her hand into his, brush wayward strands of hair off his face, rest her head against his shoulder—had been close to torture. But she could still see him, and hear him, and finally pour out her feelings, so much emotion behind three little words—I love you. And while he hadn't been able to say the words back to her—God, her heart still ached from the memory—she knew, without a doubt in her mind, that he had been about to, and that eased the pain. Really, in a way, she had always known how he felt—he had shown her every day, with his words and actions. The way he'd take her hand and smile, practically beaming, as they ran off into yet another adventure. The way he'd hugged her when they reunited after facing the Beast, holding her so tightly, as if he was afraid she'd disappear again.

And it wasn't like she was the first person to ever lose someone, have a friend or family member pass away—because that's what it was like. It was as if the Doctor had died. People moved on every day—picked up the shattered pieces of their lives and tried their best to put them back together. And even if the final result didn't look exactly as it did before—things didn't line up quite the same way, or a few pieces were missing—that didn't mean it was wrong, a life no longer worth living. Just…different, now.

She moved her face to the window, allowing the cool breeze to evaporate the remaining moisture from her cheeks. It was time to stop the constant mourning and step out into the light. Before, a lifetime ago, when the Doctor had thought they'd be separated forever, he'd asked her to do something for him. Just one thing. And while he hadn't said it on the beach, she knew that it was what he'd want, desperately, so much so that she could practically hear the words as she closed her eyes, the voices of his past and current forms twining together to create a beautiful song as they echoed through her mind.

"_Have a good life. Do that for me, Rose. Have a fantastic life."_

She would.

For him.

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The Doctor just stood there, frozen, as the walls of the control room assaulted his already clouding vision. He'd been about to pour out his hearts, utter words that he'd never said to anyone before—his mouth was still open, jaw working, waiting only for the exhalation of air to start the first word—but it was too late now. He'd run out of time. He had a time machine, and he'd run out of time. It all hit him in an instant, pain and devastation searing though his body, a single tear already making its way down his cheek. He bowed his head as a second tear fell, struggling furiously to control his emotions. No crying over companions—this had happened before and it would happen again. Rose was no different. He couldn't let her be different. All he could do was go on, ignore the pain, heap it on top of his already toppling pile. Hands scrubbed over his eyes, erasing the evidence of his loss of control as he tried to swallow down the words that still wanted to get out. He succeeded only in forcing them into a lump deep in his throat; they would go no further. He walked slowly around the console, aimlessly pushing buttons and pulling levers as he went, trying desperately to put Rose, and Norway, out of his mind.

And then suddenly there was a bride on his TARDIS, shrieking incessantly at him. The suddenness of her appearance threw him, but he jumped at the chance for an adventure, anything to distract him from the current state of affairs. Ignoring the lump in his throat, he threw himself into the mystery, until a few days later he was stumbling back onto his ship, the now happy bride safely ensconced with her fiancée. But the Doctor was exhausted—he'd barely slept during the months spent searching for a gap, and that had caused this adventure to take an even heavier toll than usual. He may have always complained about the amount of their lives humans slept away, but he couldn't go forever without it himself. He walked blindly through the corridors of the TARDIS and wearily opened his bedroom door. All he wanted to do was fall onto his bed, close his eyes, and tumble into a dreamless sleep.

It took his clouded mind a few moments, as he walked into the room, to notice the pink surrounding him, and a few more to realize what that meant. When he did his eyes widened and he turned and rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Mind clearer now, he examined his surroundings. No, this was definitely where his room should be; he had not taken a wrong turn in his exhaustion. Suspicious now, he slowly opened the next door in the hall and peeked in, shutting it quickly when he again saw pink. He leaned his forehead against the door, pain spreading through him. "Oh, old girl," he whispered to his ship, "don't do this. Not now. _Please_."

He opened the next door, but it was more of the same. Door after door, down hallways and up stairs he ran, trying to get ahead of his ship and find a room that she had not yet changed to the one filled with that familiar color. But she was too fast for him, and when he finally turned around, deciding to just go back into the console room and sleep there, he saw that there was a wall where the hallway had just been. A look in the opposite direction showed the same. He was surrounded by doors on all sides, and he knew that they would all lead to the same place. The Doctor lowered his head, defeated. There was no way around it—he was going to have to face this tonight. He reached for the handle of the nearest door, closing his eyes as he opened it and silently slipped inside. He shut the door behind him and leaned back against it, head resting against the solid wood. He stood there for a moment, breathing deeply in and out, mentally preparing himself for what was to come.

And then he opened his eyes and took in Rose's room.

The TARDIS had redecorated the room splendidly for her upon her arrival, so long ago. Pale, pale pink walls and a deep rose duvet cover were juxtaposed with sophisticated furniture made of dark woods, symbols of both the wonderful childlike imagination and curiosity she had and the amazingly mature woman she was growing to become. The room was irrepressibly messy, clothes, shoes, makeup, and other belongings strewn around, as if the owner of the space would be back any minute.

But that couldn't have been any further from the truth.

The Doctor slowly walked over to the bed and sat down, reaching out for one of the pillows with a slightly shaking hand. He held it in his lap for a moment and then, almost unconsciously, raised it to his face and breathed in. Shampoo, makeup, perfume, lotion, toothpaste—he could smell all the things that went into the scent he identified as "Rose." The tightness still in his throat increased, then loosened as the words finally came out, completing the sentence he'd started on another world, so many days ago.

"I love you."

He could feel a tear making its way down his cheek again, and then another, and this time he couldn't stop them, pretend that Rose hadn't been different. More and more tears came, until finally the Doctor leaned over, buried his head in Rose's pillow…

And cried.

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The words the Doctor spoke echoed through the ship, reverberating through time and space. The ghost of them eased their way out of the TARDIS, floating on the strength of the Doctor's emotion and helped along by his beloved ship, spinning and threading their way between stars and planets and moons, intent on some unseen destination. They went on and on, slipping easily through the nothingness that logic said should stop them, and weightlessly floated down to Earth, a different Earth, to a different England and a different London, until they were slipping through the window of an impressive manor and hovering over the woman sleeping there. The echoes of his words, no sound, just impressions of feelings, a slight breeze carrying the scent of leather and apple grass and wool and engine grease, the memories of hugs and comfort given and received and hands held and smiles shared and adventures completed and _love_, pure and simple, twisted its way over the female form below, covering her in a golden glow as it sunk into her body.

And in her sleep, although she wouldn't remember why in the morning, Rose smiled.

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_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I started writing this when Martha was just a face and a name, and I still don't really know anything canon about Torchwood, so I hope I haven't gotten too off the mark with anything.

Enjoy!

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Martha loved traveling through time and space with the Doctor. The man—alien, she had to keep reminding herself—was amazing, never failing to make her smile as he'd grab her arm and, with a manic grin, pull them into another adventure. Trouble seemed to follow them around, but the Doctor always got them out, whether with his sonic screwdriver or a well placed rambling speech or two. A flurry of activity, a blur of pinstripes—that was her Doctor.

But sometimes…he wasn't so happy. Close calls that were a little too close made him hold on to her tightly, never letting her leave his sight, as if he was afraid she'd be taken away from him. Some days, when there was no war to be stopped or world to be saved, he would spend all his time rushing between the library and the console room, looking things up in ancient tomes and then tinkering endlessly with the TARDIS, and if she asked him what he was trying to do he'd only give her that manic grin again and say, "The impossible." And when it would fail—she could always tell it had, from the pain and sadness on his face—he would retreat for hours into the one room on the ship that was locked, that she'd never been in, only a flash of pink visible to her as he closed the door. Whenever they would come upon a blond girl in a hoodie and jeans he would seem to hold his breath until he could see her face or hear her voice. Though they could go anywhere in time and space she noticed that he tended to avoid Earth in the early twenty-first century, England mostly, London and Cardiff especially. He steered clear of the former at all costs and visited the latter only when he needed to charge up the TARDIS—"Like filling her up with petrol," he'd say, tight smile on his lips and faraway look in his eyes—and even then he wouldn't leave the ship. Martha was curious by nature, and it was driving her insane, not knowing the story behind his actions. She assumed it was about a girl—she could tell that much just from his actions—but could get no further. She'd tried to ask, wheedle the story out of him a few times, but he'd just look at her with sad, sad eyes and softly say, "There are some things you just can't relive, Martha."

But then, one day, the Doctor set the coordinates for ancient Egypt but they stepped out into London, 2007, and the Time Lord froze as he took in their surroundings. "What's wrong?" she asked, heart pounding.

"Powell Estates," he whispered, and he was about to turn around and pull Martha back into the TARDIS with him when a voice called out. "Doctor! Doctor—wait!"

He and Martha both turned back to the street to see a young woman running up to them. Clad in jeans and a t-shirt, red hair—not ginger, but bright, cherry red—in a wispy pixie cut. When she reached them, the Doctor scratched the back of his neck and squinted at her. "You…look familiar, somehow. Do I know you?"

"Yeah, kinda," the mystery girl said. "I'm Shireen—Rose's mate." Martha felt the Doctor stiffen, and tensed in anticipation. Finally, a name. She listened as Shireen continued. "I need to know what happened to her, Doctor."

He scratched his neck again, and looked at his feet for a long moment before glancing back up at the girl before him. "Shireen, you must have read the lists—"

"No!" she cried, putting up a hand to stop him. "No." She took a deep breath, and Martha could see the tears shining in her eyes. "I read them, yeah, but…and her mum's gone too…there's more to it, there's got to be."

The Doctor was getting uncomfortable, and Martha, intrigued, could tell that he wasn't telling the girl the whole truth. "I'm sorry, Shireen, but there's nothing to tell."

"Don't treat me like I'm stupid, Doctor," Shireen spat. "I may only be a shop girl, but I notice things. I noticed that even though Rose would introduce you to everyone as John Smith, she'd call you Doctor when you both thought no one was listening—just like she would the first man, tall with short hair and a northern accent. Different faces, and she called you by the same name. I noticed this police box," gesturing to the TARDIS, "appearing where there'd never been one before whenever you two would come to visit and disappearing when you'd leave. I noticed it even when everyone else just seemed to pass it by. I noticed that whenever Rose and you—or the other bloke—showed up something strange and horrible would happen—like last Christmas, or the plastic shop dummies coming to life, or Downing Street, even if the government claims it was a hoax, or…" A tear made its way down her cheek. "Or the ghosts that turned into men made of metal. I know that aliens exist now, and while I've only seen a few, I'd bet there are some out there that don't look so strange—that look like any human walking down the street." She stared at the Doctor, and he sucked in a breath, knowing that she was talking about him. "And I think Rose knew it too, and she was helping you with whatever it is that you do. And I know that means that she could still be dead, but there's no way she was passive, just a name on a list. She would have gone down fighting. I just want to know the truth. Even if it's bad, and horrible, and ugly, I…I just need…" She looked at the Doctor pleadingly.

He held her gaze, tears in his own eyes now. "You're not stupid, Shireen, not at all," he said softly. "Rose would be so proud of you." He turned to look at his companion. "Would you mind staying here for a while, Martha? Shireen and I need to talk. About everything."

She was ready to protest—she wanted to hear this story too!—but the pained look the Doctor gave her made her slowly close her mouth. This was clearly something he had to do alone. "Thank you," he said, before gently taking Shireen by the arm and leading her away from the TARDIS.

Martha went inside the ship to grab a book she'd been reading and then came back out, sitting against the box in the warm sun. Two hours passed before she looked up to see the figures walking back toward her. Her sharp eyes noted the tear trails down both of their cheeks, and that Shireen had a shell-shocked expression on her face, like something she'd long suspected but never really believed possible had actually been confirmed. The other girl looked at the TARDIS with new eyes, and Martha realized that the Doctor hadn't just related his stories of the mysterious Rose—he really had told her everything. Shireen wouldn't be astonished when the ship dematerialized in front of her.

She stood as the others reached her, everyone at a loss as to what to say. "Well," the Doctor finally said, "Martha and I best be on our way. Planets to save, you know."

"Yeah," Shireen said, one corner of her mouth quirked up in a sad smile. Then her eyes widened as if she was remembering something. "Oh!" she gasped, putting a hand on the Doctor's arm. "Wait. I have something I want to give you, Doctor. Don't…just…I'll be right back." She held up one finger as she spun and ran toward the estates.

She was back quickly, holding what looked like a photograph in her hands. "Took this the last time you and Rose and Mickey all came back here," she explained, handing it to him, Martha glancing at it over his shoulder. "Thought you might want it."

The Doctor's breath caught in his throat as he looked at the picture in his hands. He was leaning on a table slightly, grinning as he rubbed his nose and looked to his right. And there was Rose, smiling wide and laughing, eyes sparkling and hair shining even in the dim of the room. He remembered this. Sometime after Reinette, when they'd all finally been in better spirits, they'd come back for a visit, and Rose and her friends had convinced him to come to the pub with them. They'd been drinking and talking for hours—he'd even gotten a little tipsy, actually—when Mickey had started telling jokes and stories, one particularly funny tale earning a snort from him in the middle of swallowing, and his drink had gone up his nose, making him choke and sputter. Rose had laughed until tears came to her eyes but the Doctor hadn't been able to glare for long, the expression turning to a grin as his nose stopped stinging. He vaguely remembered a flash of light at that moment, but his alcohol-fuzzed brain hadn't deemed it important, and had promptly forgotten about it. Until now.

It was the only picture of Rose he had—they'd never taken the time, throughout their travels, to stop and record any of it. Time Lords had excellent memories, but even for him the details were already becoming blurry. He looked at the picture hungrily, noting the deep brown color of her eyes, the pale blond hair, the smooth skin, how wide her mouth got when she smiled, and then looked back up at Rose's friend. "Thank you, Shireen," he said, voice deep and thick with emotion. "Thank you so much."

She shook her head slightly. "No, thank you. For telling me the truth. For taking care of Rose. For…everything."

The Doctor nodded, and gave her a quick hug before he and Martha stepped back into the TARDIS. He quickly got them back into the Vortex, then gazed at the picture in his hands for another moment before heading for the locked room—Rose's room, Martha now knew. And although she was still curious, after the events of the day and the tragic spin they put on the story forming in her mind, she couldn't find it in her to try to peek into the room before the Doctor closed the door.

A month later they were helping to overthrow a vicious dictator on Krangarth—and running for their lives, of course. The Doctor was a few meters behind her, using the sonic screwdriver to jam the castle's gate, slowing down the tyrant's soldiers. She was trying to find an escape route, tugging on all the doors in the room, hoping that one of them would be unlocked. She finally found one that was, and twisted around to let the Doctor know this fact as she pulled it open, then turned back around—

And ran right into a dark haired man carrying a rather large gun. "Well, hello," the man-with-the-gun said cheerfully. "And what would a girl like you be doing in a revolution like this?"

Martha paused. Not because of the cheeky greeting she'd just received, nor the previously noted gun. This man looked human—American, to be more specific, judging by the accent—while the population of this planet consisted of people with dark chocolate, scaly skin and sapphire blue hair. She had just opened her mouth to ask the man what _he_ was doing here when she was jostled from behind. The Doctor had caught up with her. "What in the world are you doing, Martha?" he cried, firing the words off at top speed. "We've got angry Krangarthians on our tails and you're just standing in a door—" He finally noticed the man in front of her. "—Jack." He breathed out the last part, amazement in his voice.

The dark haired man—Jack, apparently—looked at them in confusion, then shock and understanding, and finally something that seemed to be an amalgam of anger and pain. "Doctor," he said, nodding curtly. "So I see that regeneration is another part of the Time Lord legend that isn't a myth."

The Doctor started to reply, but was cut off by the building shaking around them. The uprising had begun. Whatever tumultuous emotions were flowing through him, Jack tamped them down as he stepped to the side, leaving enough room for the other two to pass. "I'm guessing the TARDIS must be around here somewhere," he said quickly. "This corridor's clear. Lead the way—I'll watch your backs."

Martha felt the Doctor grab her hand and drag her through the door. She looked back at Jack, then at the man in front of her, confusion written all over her face. This man knew about the TARDIS?

"Old companion," the Doctor shouted, and then there was no more talking as the three ran through the castle, dodging falling bits of stone and concrete and ducking into shadows to hide from soldiers. When they finally made it to the TARDIS the Doctor jammed his key into the lock and held it open for the others, jumping in and slamming it shut as bullets started pounding against it. Martha leaned over slightly, trying to catch her breath. The Doctor rapped his fist against the door, then started to turn towards the room. "Now _that_ was cl—"

Jack's right hook sent him spinning back into the door and sliding down it into a heap on the floor. "Doctor!" Martha cried, ready to advance on the other man if he tried anything else—she'd taken a few self-defense classes in her time—but he raised a hand, signaling to her that he was alright.

He eyed Jack, standing ramrod straight in front of him, as he slowly stood, rubbing and working his now aching jaw. "Well. I should have expected that."

Jack smirked darkly. "Yeah, you should have."

"Did it make you feel any better?"

"Very."

"Okay. Good." The Doctor nodded, seemingly satisfied with that response. When he looked back at the American, his expression was pleading. "I really _am_ sorry, Jack. If there had been any other way…"

Jack just shook his head, hand waving away the apologies. "Don't—I understand. I knew it had to have something to do with me being dead, and then not dead, and having a purpose in that timeline you couldn't disrupt. I always understood. Didn't make me like it any more, though…didn't make it hurt any less."

The Doctor opened his mouth to apologize again, but shut it without saying a word. There really wasn't anything he could say to make Jack feel better. They'd just have to work through it, put this behind them. "Okay, then. Question time. How in the world did you get here?"

The other man grinned, and Martha was amazed at how it transformed his face. "Hitchhiked. Once things were up and running again on Earth, I caught a ride with the first time traveler I came across. They dropped me off here, and when I caught wind of a brewing revolution I decided to stick around for a while. Figured someone might need a hand."

The Doctor grinned back at him. "Brilliant! Well done, Jack. Where were you trying to go? We'll give you a lift!"

A troubled expression made its way onto Jack's face. "Well, I was trying to get to London. Thought I could find Rose's mom, get her to contact you two. But now…" He looked around. "Rose isn't here, is she? What happened, Doctor?"

His grin fell, and Martha's heart twisted at the now familiar name. She didn't even wait for him to ask. "I'll be in the kitchen, Doctor," she said, slipping out of the console room, trying hard moments later to ignore the anguished cry that echoed down the corridor.

She got to know the American better over the next few days, as he stayed with them to make sure the revolution ran its course. The man could flirt with a rock, and she found that it was easy to talk to him about anything and everything. On his second night there Martha found him in the kitchen with a bottle of wine, and after a couple hours of conversation and a few glasses each, talk turned to Rose. Jack couldn't believe that the Doctor hadn't talked about the young woman and what happened, and offered to tell her the entire story. A few months ago she would have jumped at the chance, but now she just smiled sadly at her drinking companion. "He'll tell me if and when he wants to, Jack," she said, and deftly changed the topic.

When the dictator was finally defeated the Doctor asked Jack if he wanted to stay on the TARDIS, go traveling again, but he politely declined. "This Torchwood you told me about sounds like it's getting too full of itself. Could use a man like me to rein it in a little. How about you drop me off in Cardiff, right after this whole mess ended?"

The Doctor just stared at him for a bit, a grin slowly curling up the corners of his lips. "That, Captain, sounds like an _excellent_ idea." He whirled around to the console and entered the coordinates. "Cardiff it is."

Martha kissed him right on the lips before he left, because she knew it would make him laugh, and then it was just her and the Doctor again. The ship was silent for a few moments, and then he spoke. "I heard you and Jack talking in the kitchen the other night. Why didn't you let him tell you the entire story? Thought that's what you wanted."

She shrugged and looked down at the metal grating she was scuffing with her shoes, feeling slightly ashamed of herself. "I shouldn't have been prying, before. I can see now how much it hurts you to think about it. It's your story to tell, Doctor, and I shouldn't be forcing you into it."

He nodded. "S'okay. Everyone's curiosity gets the best of them sometimes. Although I think maybe it's time I told you. Haven't had to relate the entire thing to anyone yet—Jack already knew the beginning and Shireen knew the end, in a way." He looked over at her. "Would that be okay?"

"I'd be honored."

"The whole thing'll take a long time to tell," he warned her. "There's not really any good way to condense almost two years of adventures."

"We're in a time machine, Doctor!" she laughed. "We have all the time in the world."

A wave of pain washed over his face, and his lips thinned into that familiar tight smile. "You'd think so, wouldn't you?"

She mentally kicked herself, but the Time Lord smiled at her to let her know he was all right. He stood at the console, thinking for a moment, and then started pushing buttons. "We'll start the story from the beginning in the place where it ended—or as near as we can get. Neat little circle, don't you think?"

The Doctor took her to a deserted beach in Norway, and there Martha Jones learned the entire story of Rose Marion Tyler.

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Where before Torchwood had been her enemy, on this world it was her salvation. Rose threw herself into her work. She sat for and passed her A levels, and started taking university classes at night after work. It was partly because, alien knowledge or no, there was only so far a girl with her level of education could get in this bureaucracy. But the overwhelming reason was just because she wanted to. Traveling with the Doctor had shown her how wonderful it could be to learn just for the sake of learning, and she soaked up information where ever she could.

Mickey and Jake had been spending most of their free time at the Tyler house—they were like family now, after everything they'd gone through—so it seemed only natural for them to move into the expansive manor. And soon after, when she had teased Mickey about the amount of time he spent with the other man and he'd blushed and stuttered instead of laughing it off, Rose had realized the truth and, smiling, said she was happy for him. Mickey had smiled back, relieved, enveloping her in a hug, and she'd felt a wave of joy flow through her. She was closer to him now than they'd ever been while dating, and she didn't feel like she was loosing anything—more like gaining a brother, a best friend.

Before she knew it she was sitting in a hospital room, cradling her new baby sister as a proud Pete and exhausted Jackie looked on, smiling. Transfixed, she took in every detail of the life she was holding, from the baby powder smell of her soft skin to the curl in her hair to the deep clear blue of her eyes. She looked up, eyes shining. "She's beautiful."

"Yeah, she is," Jackie murmured, utterly content. There were a few more moments of silence as Rose admired her sister, and then Pete spoke up. "You ready to give us your choice, love? Not much time left."

Pete and Jackie had decided not to learn the sex of the baby, and everyone had been throwing out their own favorite names for the last nine months. Only Rose had declined, tip of her tongue poking out between her teeth as she stated that she'd rather wait until the baby was born and decide then. That time had come, and as the child wrapped her tiny hand around her pinkie finger and her heart, Rose flashed back to the day everyone lived. "Nancy," she breathed, "after one of the strongest and bravest girls I've ever met."

Jackie hadn't seen Rose this happy in months. The proud parents looked at each other for a moment, then nodded. "Nancy it is, then."

Rose was moving on, but she never completely forgot the Doctor. She rose through the Torchwood ranks quickly, and every time she was promoted she gained access to more information—which she took full advantage of, pouring through old reports and files for any mention of the Doctor. But it was all in vain, though—in this world there was no mention of him, or even the Time Lords in general. Torchwood had still been founded because of the werewolf, but here Prince Albert and Sir Robert's father had both still been alive to see their diamond and telescope vanquish the creature. After exhausting the old files Rose had scoured the new ones, looking for any reports of finding or developing technology that would be able to bridge the gap once more. There was none yet, but she always kept one eye on the reports, just in case.

And where ever she went she was reminded of the Doctor. Blokes with floppy hair and pinstriped suits or big ears and battered leather jackets would make her stop in her tracks, a silent prayer leaving her lips before she inevitably got closer and saw just a stranger, looking at her curiously. She couldn't help herself—as content she was, as fervently as she hoped that he'd found another companion and was happily traversing the universe, there was always a small part of her that insisted she'd see him again, was just waiting for him to show up with the TARDIS and that manic smile on his face and sweep her up into his arms.

One night, when Pete and Jake had to work late, Jackie, Rose, and Mickey sat in front of the house's main fireplace, the flames bathing the room in warmth. Rose was curled up on a sofa holding a sleeping Nancy, and she grinned at her mother sitting beside her. "I can't believe she's a month old already!"

"Oh, I can," Jackie replied. "You'd be amazed at how quickly children grow up. She'll be walking and talking before you know it."

Mickey piped up from the overstuffed chair beside them. "I'll just be happy when she starts sleeping through the night," he teased.

"Oi!" Jackie laughed softly. "I can still give you a smack, and you know it."

The others chuckled, but Rose stayed silent, lost in memories. The Doctor had lived in fear of her mother, and it never ceased to amuse her.

Jackie noticed the wistful expression on her face. "Oh, Rose, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you think of—"

"It's fine, Mum," she interrupted kindly, eyes free of tears. "It's nice to look back sometimes."

"But you're happy now, right?" Mickey asked anxiously. He tried to protect her, watching for signs of sadness or depression, but sometimes he worried that she was a better actress than he knew.

"_Yes_, Mickey." Rose gave her mother and best friend an exasperated smile. "You two worry too much. I'm moving on, have myself a great job, wonderful family and friends, and a beautiful new sister." She placed a kiss on the infant's forehead. "I'm truly happy." It was a different emotion than the one she felt with the Doctor, but happy nonetheless.

Her mother ploughed on. "I'd worry less if you'd start dating, find a man. There have to be plenty of eligible bachelors at Torchwood, don't there?"

Rose laughed a little at Jackie's bluntness, but it faded quickly, and she could only shrug. "I guess there are. Dunno—I've never noticed, or been interested." She looked her mother in the eye. "There'll never be anyone else."

Jackie held her gaze, similar words echoing through her mind. And for the first time in a long time, she really and truly understood her daughter. Nodding, she looked away.

Mickey spoke. "You think he's going to come back, don't you? That he's going to find a way, somehow."

She was silent for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "He seemed so devastated, so sure that it would be impossible to come through again. But, then…it was supposed to be impossible to see you again—but we did. I've been on an impossible planet, done impossible things…it makes me wonder."

"And if he does make it back here, you'll leave with him." There was no question in Jackie's voice. She knew this was fact.

"Oh, Mum…" But Jackie would let her finish.

"Don't apologize, Rose—there's no need. I got you for nineteen wonderful years, but everyone's got to leave the nest at some point. I never expected to get a second chance with Pete, and there's no way I could take the same thing away from you." Both women's eyes were bright with tears. "So we're going to say our good byes right here, right now, because when that daft alien finds his way back to you—and he will—I want you to just go, without worrying about leaving us behind."

Shifting Nancy to one arm, Rose leaned over and enveloped her mother in a fierce hug. "I love you, Mum, so much."

"I love you too, sweetie. Never forget that."

As they broke apart, tears trailing down their cheeks, Rose looked back over to Mickey, her eyes pleading with him. Did he understand why she would leave, had to leave? She didn't want to hurt him like she had in the past.

He did feel a flash of hurt, listening to their exchange, but it faded instantly. He'd been there, seen the connection between the two and how devastated Rose had been when it was severed. And even from a distance he'd seen the new lines of pain on the Doctor's face as he and Rose met at Bad Wolf Bay, trying their hardest not to break down. He knew how it felt to be loved like that, now, and he could never begrudge Rose the chance to get it back. "Watch him land the TARDIS somewhere in this mansion and get completely lost."

That got Rose to laugh, and she handed her sister back to Jackie so she could go over and hug him as well. "Thank you, Mickey," she whispered into his ear.

Running a hand through her hair, he blinked back his own tears. "Always."

He moved over to make room for her on the overstuffed chair, and she curled up beside him, head on his shoulder. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire as they looked out the window, up at the stars.

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_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! It makes me so happy to know that people are enjoying my storytelling.

This could probably be considered more of an interlude than a chapter. Also, I just sent the last chapter to my beta, so hopefully everyone won't have to wait that much longer.

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It was dark and silent inside the TARDIS as the Doctor slept, only the glow from the central column visible. The Vortex, always moving, changing, golden swirls twisting and unfurling as events in Time occurred. Sections were rewritten every second, myriads of possibilities condensing into one path as choices were made and variables filled in. The Doctor, like all Time Lords, was amazingly intelligent, a genius, and the one subject he believed he knew the most about was the TARDIS and the Vortex. Thought he understood most of its intricacies, the rules of its existence. He may never be able to completely understand it, but for now he could contain it, and control it.

The Doctor would be wrong.

Although he would never know it, his knowledge of the TARDIS and the Vortex contained within was as limited as Rose's grasp of quantum physics. No one was supposed to absorb the entire Vortex, he had said in the process of regenerating, and yet a simple human girl had done it and come out the other side unscathed. Rose could never see him again, he had said on a Norwegian beach, and all of his tries to the contrary had seemed only to confirm that fact as he failed time after time after time.

And yet…

No one was supposed to look into the Heart of the TARDIS, but Rose had stubbornly done so anyway. She had looked into the TARDIS and the ship had looked into her, recognizing the love for the Doctor there, pure and steady. Alone neither of them could save the Time Lord, but together, they were unstoppable. They sang beautifully. They were the Bad Wolf.

The Doctor never wondered why Rose wasn't harmed after the Game Station. He must have healed her in the moment he had the chance, as the power of Time flowed through him. It was the only explanation.

It wasn't.

He had not managed to draw all of the Vortex out of Rose—a ghost of it still remained, hidden away. But the TARDIS would never let it hurt her. How could she harm such a kindred spirit, willing to sacrifice herself to save their Doctor? The TARDIS contained the Vortex, and Rose contained the Bad Wolf, different names for the same entity, connecting them for all of time. Even now, as they were separated, stranded on different sides of the Void, a condition that seemed to be permanent.

Was it?

The Doctor would say so. The Doctor would say that without the Time Lords, and the breach now gone, there was no way to purposefully cross into a parallel dimension. The Doctor would say that he had tried to find a way, millions of times, and failed on each and every one, putting the feat into the rare category of things that were truly impossible.

But the Doctor didn't know the TARDIS quite as well as he thought he did.

And the Doctor would be wrong.

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_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** And here ends my longest fanfic to date—I think the closest I've gotten before was about 3,000 words. Wow. I'm so proud of this monstrous thing, and yet at the same time nervous, hoping everyone will like how I ended it.  
Many, many thanks again go to **vartanluvva** for the beta, in her words "British-ifying" this fic (and all my DW fics to come). Couldn't do it without you, sweetie!

**Feedback:** Is LOVE. Please review!

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The Doctor watched the couple on the monitor as they walked away from the TARDIS. He was a little sad, but not surprised, that Martha had decided it was time to leave. There was nothing left for her to learn from him, she said, and besides, Jack needed more help at Torchwood. And that was true, but it didn't make him miss the smile on her face every time she said Jack's name, or the possessive way the former Time Agent gripped her hand when they landed in Cardiff. The Doctor had noticed the attraction from the first time they'd been together on the TARDIS, and he approved wholeheartedly. Didn't make him any less protective, though. Take good care of her, his eyes had silently instructed the other man as they said their goodbyes, him promising to drop by again soon—no more forgetting about companions after they left. Of course, Jack's eyes had answered back.

Hands over the controls, ready to send the TARDIS back into the Vortex, he paused and closed his eyes, warring with himself. Getting so close to Torchwood again had reminded him of the day, internal calendar marking it boldly.

One year. One year ago the alternate Pete Tyler had whisked Rose away, saving her from the Void but dooming them both to eternity apart. It seemed like it happened both yesterday and a thousand years ago, and he wasn't sure if he should do—could do—what he was thinking about doing. Then he made his decision, and set the coordinates for London.

The clinical white room hadn't changed since he'd last walked out of it, except for the thick layer of dust that lay on every surface. Torchwood hadn't been able to vacate the building after the fiasco with the Daleks and Cybermen—it would have caused too much suspicion—but they did avoid this room, the place where it had all started, and then ended. He slowly stepped out of the TARDIS and walked over to the blank wall. Hesitantly he pressed his palm against it, as if afraid it would burn. Then he rested his temple against the wall, briefly echoing his position of a year previous before turning until his back was pressing against it and sliding down into a sitting position on the floor, hands resting loosely over his bent knees. Head against the cool wall, eyes closed, he was still for a moment before breaking the acute silence. If anyone walked in he or she would think him crazy, talking to the empty room, but he really didn't care.

"You wouldn't believe the year I've had, Rose. Found Jack—or did he find us?—but he was quite angry with me at the beginning. Worked it out, though, as much as violence ever can…I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? That won't do. I'll start from the beginning…"

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Rose wandered through the halls of Torchwood, which were getting slightly darker as evening set in. Her workday had ended an hour ago, but she just didn't feel like going home and facing her family. The day had started off badly, with a headache that wouldn't go away, and had gotten even worse when it turned out to be a slow day at work, not allowing her the opportunity to lose herself in reports and research and forget the fact that today was an anniversary. _The_ anniversary.

One year. It had been one year since the Daleks and Cybermen, since she'd been ripped away from the Doctor. Had it really been a year? She'd been doing so well, moving on, but today she could only feel sadness and pain weighing down on her Everyone had long ago stopped treating her like a fragile flower, but she knew that today, unwittingly, they would revert back to the sideways glances, hushed whispers, and stilted conversations, and that would just make the depression even worse. So she stayed in the tower, aimlessly going through doors and up and down stairs, letting her feet take her where they pleased as her mind drifted. When she ended up in a large room, she absently noted the details of it—barren, white walls…

Her wandering ground to a halt as her mind focused with painful clarity. She knew this room, had probably led herself here without realizing it. It looked the same as it had the last time she'd been there, sobbing uncontrollably as Pete, Jackie, and Mickey looked on. She walked up to the far wall and pressed her cheek and hand against it, as if mimicking the stance could bring back the Doctor's presence. A year ago, when she'd done this, she'd imagined that she could actually feel him for a moment, right behind the wall, before it had faded away. Not this time, though. Just the wall, cool and smooth, and she had to close her eyes and swallow hard against a wave of tears. It took a minute or so to regain control of her emotions, and she sighed as she opened her eyes—

—and saw a streak of red beneath her fingertips.

She jerked away from wall and took in the words that had suddenly appeared on it in large, stark letters.

Bad Wolf.

Bad Wolf. She knew the story behind it now, had cornered the Doctor after the werewolf and its strange declarations and forced him to finally tell her what had happened on the Game Station. And he had, leaving no detail out, but while she knew the events she still couldn't _remember_ them. To her it had still been just a story—an amazing tale that she wove into a nightmare for the Daleks.

But now, as she stared at the words in front of her, her blood pounding and rushing through her head, the headache she'd had all day intensified ten-fold, and suddenly, it wasn't just a story anymore. She could see the shock and fear on the Doctor's face, hear her voice that wasn't quite her own wishing the Daleks into dust, feel the power coursing through her veins. The words shifted from red to gold, the color seemingly reaching out to embrace her, swirling around her and soaking into her skin.

She could see so many possibilities, see the threads of Time like an angel's hair twisting around each other. She saw all the ways their stand at Torchwood Tower could have ended, both in happiness and in tears. The images all came at her at once, filling her mind to the point of pain. It made her stagger a bit, but Rose held firm. She'd been through this once before, and knew that her mind had somehow adapted to it. She could withstand it again. Casting her mind out, she sifted through the different threads that contained her and the Doctor. And then she found one for this very day, with the Doctor in his universe, at his version of this wall, and she was there too, and she knew that it could be true somehow, she could make it true, and suddenly everything else faded into the background.

_"Focus." _ The voice in her head had an ethereal quality, like a song. The TARDIS. It came back to her suddenly, like a missing piece finally being put into place. _"Just focus, Rose, and it will be true."_

She could feel Time pulling at her, tugging her from the reality she was in, and though she knew there was no way they could hear her, she threw out a final farewell. "Mom, Dad, Nancy, Mickey—I love you all so much. Goodbye," her mind whispered.

And then the world fell away around her.

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"…and Jack's been doing an incredible job at Torchwood. It's amazing how much one person can do—and now with Martha there, the organization is going to be overhauled even more. I can feel it. And you know me and my feelings—I have an amazing track record." The Doctor smiled to himself, imagining the look Rose would be giving him. It was nice to remember, sometimes, and the talking kept the melancholy away.

A small breeze ruffled his hair, and he stood and looked around, startled. Where had that come from?

The strange wind kept increasing in strength, swirling around the room, whipping his tie over his shoulder and making his suit jacket flap open violently. Suddenly, in front of the TARDIS, he spotted a golden light, hovering in the air. He watched, fascinated, as the ball of light grew in size, morphing until he could see a human form in front of him. It reminded him of the ghost watches, and the Cybermen, but for some reason he didn't feel alarmed at all. And then he realized why—in the back of his mind, the TARDIS was humming with excitement. This wasn't bad—it was wonderful. It was perfect.

It was _right_.

The golden light exploded outward, intensifying so much that the Doctor had to shield his eyes. When the gold finally dimmed and the light in the room went back to normal he slowly lowered his hands and looked back to the TARDIS.

And there, staring back at him, was Rose.

Eyes widening and mouth gaping open in shock, he froze, mind going completely blank as pain lanced through him. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. Something or someone was playing a sick, sick joke that wasn't funny at all.

"No," he breathed, staring at the apparition of Rose. "No. You aren't real. This is impossible."

"Oh, Doctor." There were tears in her eyes as she made her way over to him. He couldn't move. "You of all people should know that the impossible is just something you haven't figured out yet." She reached up to caress his cheek.

Her fingertips were warm and smooth against the slight stubble. He could feel her, smell her, sense her. This was real—this was Rose. Oh God.

Oh, _God_.

Laughing hysterically through tears, he had her in his arms in an instant, Rose shrieking in delight as he spun her around until they were both dizzy. Setting her down, he hugged her again, pulling her close and threading a hand through her blond hair, burying his face in the strands. "You're here," he murmured. "You're really here."

They stayed that way for a moment before the Doctor stepped back, hands framing her face because he couldn't bear to stop touching her. "How…?"

"Bad Wolf," she stated, and the Doctor felt his stomach drop. "It's been there, ever since the Game Station—hiding, waiting. I was at Torchwood, after hours, in their version of this room, and suddenly…" She was silent for a moment, groping for the correct words and unable to find them. "And then I was here. It was like on the Game Station…but the Bad Wolf didn't hide away this time." She swayed a little, and he grabbed her shoulders to steady her as she found her equilibrium. And as she looked back up at him to speak again, for the first time, the Doctor noticed the gold flecks in Rose's eyes, the new presence in the back of his mind. "So this is what it feels like, to be falling through space, the Earth spinning beneath our feet."

"Oh, Rose." He dropped his gaze to the metal grating below them, distressed as he shook his head. "This is my fault. All my fault. I just wanted to show you the universe, what was out there. Not change you—make you less normal, less human. Your brain's not made to take the strain being put on it. It's going to kill you. We've got to…I've got to…"

She cupped his face, forcing him to look up at her. "Oh, Doctor, I haven't been normal since the instant you first took my hand. I'm still human—just a little different. And it's not going to kill me. It may have been painful on the Game Station, but the TARDIS knew what she was doing. She was preparing me. I can handle it now. Let me prove it to you." Her slim fingers moved to press gently against his temples, and though she shouldn't, _couldn't_ know how to, be able to, she closed her eyes…

The Doctor gasped softly as she slid into his mind, eyes closing instinctively even though he was unused to being on this end of the experience. He was just beginning to tense, to prepare to block her access, when he realized that she wasn't doing anything. Just…there. Waiting.

_Let me prove it to you._

Ah, yes. He understood her intentions now and pressed out, pushing, pulling, tugging—testing. And just like she'd said she would, Rose held firm. Bad Wolf had given her abilities humans had never been meant to possess, but they weren't hurting her in the least. A little awkward maybe, stumbling here and there, but who wouldn't be, doing something for the first time? She would be fine. A little different, but fine—and she seemed to be okay with that.

_"Let me show you—I need to show you."_

He shivered a little at the words flowing through him, but he'd never been able to deny her anything. So he relented, yielding as Rose shared with him her memories of the past year, scenes flitting across the insides of his eyelids. Her numbness after their first separation, and her resolve after their second. He watched her get promotion after promotion at Torchwood, saw her holding Nancy in the hospital for the first time, heard her saying a preemptive goodbye to Jackie and Mickey. Hours and days washing over him in seconds until he was with her in the alternate Torchwood, Bad Wolf awakening again. Rose hadn't been exaggerating earlier—it was indescribable, feeling the power of the Vortex and the voice of the TARDIS as she had.

And when her sharing was complete and she paused, hesitant in her newfound power, in front of the heavily fortified gates of his own memories, he found that he could only sigh in surrender, cover her hands with his, and throw open the locks.

The weeks spent searching for a way to tell her goodbye. The breakdown in her bedroom. Martha. Shireen, and the picture. Running into Jack, and Jack's fist running into him. Images and feelings flowing between them a second time. Rose finally got to the end, when her hand on his skin had convinced him she was real, and the emotion he'd been feeling in that moment came back in full force, warmth spreading through him and filling every part of his body. It met Rose's mirrored emotion at their tangled fingertips and expanded, multiplied, swirling around them both, chasing away any leftover pain and sadness, surrounding them in the glow of what could only be one thing.

Love.

They both opened their eyes, hands never moving from the Doctor's temples.

He'd been afraid to love her before, to get too close, because if he did, no matter what, she would wither and die before his eyes, her life a brief flickering candle compared to his. It was better to keep his distance, always preparing for the day when he would have to let her go. Opening his hearts to her would only make it worse.

Except now he knew that that was a joke. He knew what it felt like to lose Rose, the bitter, heart-breaking emptiness that, while carefully locked away, had barely dissipated with time. Not letting her in hadn't eased the pain, instead leaving him with regrets of things left unsaid and undone. "Better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all." Oh, how that quote resonated with him now, and he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. He'd admitted his feelings to himself; now it was time to admit them to her. He knew that she knew—he'd seen it and felt it—but she deserved to hear the words aloud. It was time.

"I love you."

Rose's eyes widened and he briefly registered the joy coming off her in waves, and then he was kissing her. His hands moved to cradle her head and back and hers wound around his neck as the kiss deepened, tongues dancing and tasting. He'd never thought this day would come, and now that it had, he wasn't letting her go until he had to.

Minutes, hours, a lifetime later they broke apart, foreheads together as they caught their breath. Silence reigned in the white room—no words were needed.

The room held no more for them, so the Doctor laced his fingers with hers and led her toward the TARDIS, happily letting her open the door with her own key, still on a chain around her neck after all this time. He grinned and stood back against the wall as Rose wandered to the center of the control room, tears in her eyes as she took in everything around her. The central column pulsed contentedly, and the very air buzzed with happiness. "The TARDIS missed you," he whispered.

She gazed down at the controls, hands trailing over various buttons and knobs, and he remembered that he didn't have to translate for his ship anymore. "I know. I missed her too," Rose responded.

Unable to be so far away from her any longer, he strode over and slipped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. She closed her eyes and leaned back against him, getting used to the new presence in her mind that was the Doctor. "Any preference on where we go first?" he whispered into her ear.

She turned her head slightly to look at him. "I thought we should visit Shireen, then go to Cardiff and find Jack. I need to see them, show them I'm back."

"Sounds like a plan." Untwining one arm from her waist he pressed further against her, reaching around and setting the coordinates. His hand lingered on the final lever, though. Waiting. Waiting for her. Understanding, Rose reached out and covered his hand with hers.

Neither knew how long they had with each other. It could be years, decades—or it could be minutes. Rose or he could be dead tomorrow. But that was okay. They had both learned their lesson. They may not have forever, but they had here, and now.

And they were together. That was enough.

Together they pulled the lever down, and with an ancient, echoing wheeze, the TARDIS dematerialized from Torchwood Tower.

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_fini_


	5. Epilogue

**A/N:** Ask and ye shall receive—people wanted an epilogue, so here it is. I started writing this before Torchwood started, so it's not canon at all. Also, I got post-itis and was unable to wait for my beta to finish reading this (sorry Michelle!), so any mistakes are all mine.

**Feedback:** Is love. Please review!

* * *

Shireen sighed happily as she walked back to the estates, working the kinks out of her neck. It had been a long day at the office, but it was better than the shop. She'd gone to work the day after talking with the Doctor, but after only an hour of fake politeness to snobbish customers who didn't even seem to realize she was there she'd wanted to pull her hair out and scream. She could do more than fold clothes and smile until her cheeks hurt—the Doctor had shown her that. 

As soon as her shift had ended she'd run to the nearest university she knew of and perused the list of courses offered, one instantly catching her eye. Marketing. While she didn't want to work in a shop for the rest of her life, she still loved clothes, and fashion. She could do this. She would love doing this—and she signed up for classes right then and there.

The classes were hard and time consuming, but she excelled, putting the creativity she used to reserve for her hair and outfits into her projects. And then one day one of her professors had mentioned her name to an ad agency that was hiring, and they'd been impressed by her work. They'd offered her a job as a secretary for the time being, allowing her to get a feel for the company, with a full time position waiting for her once she finished her degree. And while the job was similar to her previous one, the environment couldn't have been more different. Here she was surrounded by intelligent people who loved what they were doing, not just slogging through each day for the paycheck. She was so proud of what she'd accomplished—and couldn't help but hope that Rose would have been too.

A familiar whooshing filled the air, and Shireen smiled as she saw the blue police box materialize next to her flat. She'd seen the Doctor a few times in the months since they'd first talked. Strange things had started to happen again—people next to the river falling ill for no reason. The government and health officials were strangely silent on the issue, which just piqued her curiosity even more. She'd gone down to the docks to investigate, staying in the shadows and snapping pictures with her mobile when she came across a group of people who were acting suspicious—and didn't look quite human. She'd been on her way home, desperately trying to figure out how she could contact the Doctor, when she'd literally bumped into him on the street. They'd dropped by so Martha could see some of her mates, but as soon as she showed them the pictures they were on the case, her along for the ride. The "people" she'd found turned out to be a partially amphibious species called Artkers who'd discovered that human white blood cells were an excellent source of fuel for their ships, and were happily taking advantage of that fact. How rude. There'd been a few moments when Shireen hadn't been sure she was going to get out of it alive, but when she'd mentioned that to Martha the other woman had laughed.

"Actually," she'd said, "this has gone relatively well."

Shireen had also mentioned, once the Doctor had dispatched the last Artkerian, that she loved Martha's necklace, an intricate, twisting chain that held a deep blue stone.

"A Krangarth sapphire!" the Doctor had exclaimed. "The exact same color as their hair. We can get you one when we're in the area—we've got a rebellion to help along, anyway."

Martha had rolled her eyes. "Of course, it can't just be a pleasure trip. There has to be some kind of death-defying aspect to it."

"Oi!" the Doctor had protested, as the two women smirked at each other. "I'm telling you, the Krangarthian Revolution of the eighty-third century is an event not to be missed."

The Time Lord had been true to his word. They'd come back a few weeks later with a similar necklace—and an American bloke named Jack. Shireen had vaguely remembered that Jack had traveled with Rose and the Doctor briefly, and had been happy to find another person who had known her best mate. The three had stayed for a few hours before taking Jack to Cardiff. She and Captain Harkness still kept in touch, calling each other when they wanted to talk about Rose. The Doctor didn't come back to visit often, but she understood—she would miss Rose for the rest of her life, and how long would that be? Fifty or sixty years? The Doctor had hundreds of years to carry that pain. She couldn't begrudge him trying to stay away from the constant reminder.

The Doctor had appeared by the time she walked up to the TARDIS, his lean frame filling the doorway of the police box. "So, who are you saving Earth from this time?" she called to him teasingly.

He grinned at her, bright and warm and gloriously happy, and she realized that he seemed…lighter. Lighter than he'd been in a long time. "Oh, no rescuing today. Just had someone who wanted to see you." And with that, he stepped out of the doorway.

There was a shriek that could have shattered glass, and then Shireen was throwing herself at Rose, both women crying happily as they embraced each other. It was a struggle to stay upright as they stumbled out of the doorway of the TARDIS, Shireen running her hands over Rose again and again, as if to convince herself that this wasn't a dream. "You're here, you're here…oh, God, you're really here!"

Laughing and crying at the same time, Rose nodded as her best mate engulfed her in another hug. "I missed you so much, Shireen," she choked out.

"Me too, hun," the girl replied. She pulled back, still holding Rose by the shoulders. "Wait, if you're back...what about Mickey? Your mum?" she asked, looking at her expectantly.

Rose's expression fell slightly as she shook her head. "No. Just me." But she quickly continued, before the mood could turn somber. "But they understand. It's okay. I'm where I belong." Lips curling into a smile, she looked over Shireen's shoulder at the Doctor, who was leaning casually against the TARDIS.

Shireen turned in the direction of Rose's gaze, finally remembering that they weren't alone. Lunging toward the unsuspecting Time Lord, she tackled him and wrapped her arms around him, giving him an exuberant hug. "And you, you wonderful, amazing alien man," she murmured into the fabric of his coat. "Thank you for bringing her back."

Laughing, the Doctor returned the hug. "Don't thank me," he replied, returning his companion's smile over Shireen's shoulder. "She did most of the work."

* * *

Hours passed before Shireen would let them leave, the moon and stars out in the sky as they finally walked hand in hand back to the TARDIS. They were only steps away from the police box when the Doctor stopped, turning to face Rose. He took a deep breath and paused, measuring out what he was about to say. 

"Shireen mentioned your mum, and Mickey…we can try to get back to them, if you want."

But Rose was shaking her head before he'd even finished speaking. "No we can't, Doctor. You know that as well as I do." She'd already thought about that, in the time it had taken to get to Shireen's flat. Without even trying, her mind had instantly gone through the various timelines, where she and the Doctor immediately tried to cross the void into the parallel universe. They all ended badly, although she didn't know exactly how. She just knew that as she traveled along each line, she would get a horrible, malevolent feeling, and then the line would abruptly end—as if it no longer existed. She understood now, how sometimes the Doctor would know where to go, but not exactly why.

Defeated, the Doctor replied, "I just…I don't want you to regret…you're here without your family, and there's a good chance you're not going to be able to see them again—"

Rose cupped his face in her hands and lifted his eyes to hers. "Stop that. Either way I was going to be sad—staying there, or somehow finding my way back here. I know I'm going to miss Mickey, my mum and dad, Nancy…that's going to hurt for a long time." Her voice grew thick. "But I told you before that I made my choice a long time ago—I'm not leaving you. I'm not leaving you because you've shown me that there's more to life than my simple planet. I'm not leaving you because I'm not going to make you do all this alone." A tear ran down her cheek. "But most of all, I'm not leaving you because I love you. Don't ever, _ever_ make yourself feel guilty by thinking that I regret what happened, because I don't. Got that?"

The Doctor nodded, a smile slowly appearing on his face. "Yeah, I think I do," he said, voice thick as well, before giving Rose a quick, hard kiss.

There was silence for a moment, each of them collecting themselves, before he spoke again. "I think there was someone else you wanted to see."

* * *

Jack signed the form in front of him and added it to the smaller of the two piles on his desk, then leaned back in his chair and stretched, sighing. Fighting aliens and protecting the Earth were in his job description, but it seemed like most of his time was filled with paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork. 

Martha choose that moment to walk into his office, carrying a steaming mug in each hand—tea for her, coffee for him. He sighed again, but out of relief this time.

"Bless you," he murmured, taking the proffered cup and carefully swallowing a mouthful of caffeinated goodness. "My hand was about to seize up."

She laughed. "That bad?"

He swept his hand over the desk, indicating the stacks of paper resting on its surface. "I'll be lucky if I get all this done today."

They talked a while longer, deciding what they would have for dinner that night. When Jack's phone rang, he picked it up immediately, hoping for a reason to get out of his office. "Captain Jack Harkness, Torchwood Cardiff."

"So official sounding. Someone who didn't know you would think that you were a company man."

Jack smiled as he glanced at the door, making sure Martha had closed it after she came in. He'd made sure his phone and office weren't bugged his first day on the job, but you never knew when a nosy subordinate might try to listen in. "Doctor," he greeted, Martha looking up expectantly at the name, "didn't think we'd hear from you again so soon. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing much," he replied, sounding evasive. Jack could practically see the innocent expression the Doctor would be making, as if the Time Lord was standing right there in his office. "I was just hoping that you could come down to the TARDIS. I've parked it down the block from Torchwood."

Jack frowned. "I know things here have changed some, but you're still in the mission statement, Doctor, and still an alien with alien tech. I'm not sure it would be a good idea for me to go swanning off in the middle of the day to meet you."

"I—" the Doctor started, but he was cut off, and there were muffled thumps and laughter, as if he was struggling with someone for the phone. And then a new voice filled his ear, so warm and familiar it hurt his heart.

A voice he'd thought he'd never hear again.

"Come on, Captain," Rose teased. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

The phone fell to the desk with a clatter as Jack rushed out of the room, wrenching the door open so hard that it slammed into the wall behind it. Martha looked at the phone in confusion, then ran after him, trying to keep up.

Jack didn't notice. The people at the desks around him faded into a blur as he ran out of the building into the midday sunshine. He ran and ran and then there was blue and Rose and he had her in his arms and spun her around, Rose's feet in the air as she laughed and laughed and oh God he'd never been happier.

He finally set her down and held her at arm's length, just looking at her, taking it all in. "I'm not dreaming this, am I? Someone needs to pinch me, prove I'm not dreaming."

Rose laughed. "Anything to get me to touch you—I see you haven't changed a bit, Jack."

He grinned and hugged her again. Yes, this was definitely real.

When Jack finally released her she saw a woman standing behind him, waiting silently. Rose smiled and extended her hand—she was no longer the girl who had been so catty with Sarah Jane. "And you must be Martha. It's nice to meet you."

The slightly nervous expression vanished from Martha's face as she took Rose's hand. "Same here. It's wonderful to finally meet the person behind the stories."

Rose quirked an eyebrow. "They've been telling stories about me, have they?" Her expression turned mischievous. "I'm sure I have a few Jack and Doctor stories of my own that you would _love_ to hear."

Martha's grin widened as she leaned in conspiratorially. "Oh, and I know the Doctor didn't tell you _everything_ that's happened over the past year. I'll have to let you know all the juicy bits."

"That sounds wonderful," Rose replied, linking arms with Martha and leading the other woman back to the TARDIS. They walked past the gobsmacked Doctor and Jack, who were just beginning to realize how much trouble they were in. They exchanged fearful glances.

"Um, Rose?"

"Martha?"

Without waiting for a reply, they both rushed after the giggling women, following them back into the TARDIS.

* * *


End file.
